Author's Notes: Set during "Vincent and the Doctor" with allusions to "Cold Blood" (and a small call out to "Amy's Choice", if you can catch it!). I wrote Part 1 of "In Every Sunflower" nearly two years ago, so please keep that in mind if it's a bit different in style ;) Rated M for adult situations. All the usual disclaimers (not mine, just fun, etc). Please R&R!

"You scared me," Amy hissed at the Doctor, pressing a hand to her chest. It seemed to be a common theme here in 1890. They kept startling the other. Her heart beat against her rib cage as she sank down on the bench.

The Doctor didn't say anything right away. He moved past her, a couple fire logs under his arm and one in his hand. The fire popped as he pushed a log into the burning embers. Her eyes settled on the fire he rebuilt. The Doctor stood to his full height as he stared into the fire.

Her eyes lingered on the Doctor's shoulders. A million things ran through her mind as her pulse slowed. Could he tell where she's been? Was it obvious what she and Vincent did while the Doctor slept? How long had he'd been awake? How much sleep do Time Lords even need? She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it.

He spoke instead. "How's Vincent?"

He knew. Of course, he knew. Here it was — the big lecture: How Amy Pond Should Stop Messing with History. It was fine when he did it, but not when she felt connected to someone who would become renowned for his paintings. She forced her expression to remain blank, desperate not to betray the extent of her time with Vincent.

The Doctor waited as if he expected her to say something. When Amy refused, he continued. "I should've said something before now," the Doctor said, his voice low. "At first, I thought it harmless, the way you two looked at each other, with the eyes and the flirting. He'd have to be blind not to be mad about you, equally mad Amy Pond. I should've warned you about the risks —"

"Risks like taking him to face the Krafayis?" she spat. The Doctor had said himself that their mission was dangerous. He had tried to get Vincent to stay outside the church but that did not work out according to his plan. And they all ended up just fine. "Vincent can make his own decisions. I can make my own decisions —"

The Doctor turned to face her, his expression solemn. "This isn't about history, Amy. I'm talking about your heart."

Her nostrils flared and she blinked back sudden tears. As the sadness swept over her senses, she was unsure if the cause was the scolding, concern, or something she's forgotten. The way that the Doctor looked at her brought to mind several things: how she had been inexplicably been crying, how Vincent's words undid her. Then there was one more piece left over from their earlier visit to the Musée d'Orsay.

"Why are you worried? For the same reason you've been so nice to me lately?"

She saw it in the briefest flash across the Doctor's face — he wasn't telling her everything. She wanted to shake him, get him to spill whatever had been troubling him. She was missing something. Something big. Something that caused a hole in her chest. Something that made her relate to Vincent and want to comfort him. Something that made her receptive to the artist's attention.

The Doctor stepped toward her. "We'll be leaving in a few hours. You should try to get some rest."

"I can sleep on the TARDIS," she insisted. "Tell me what's going on —"

He cupped her head and ran a thumb against her orange locks, the way he always did when he was indulging her or being affectionate. But this time it was to shut her up. She didn't like it when he got that serious look his face and evaded her questions. She didn't like feeling as if she were his responsibility.

"Doctor —"

"Shhhh," he soothed her. Words eluded her and he pressed a plain kiss on her forehead. He then left her alone in the room by the fire. As much as she wanted to follow after him and argue, part of her didn't want to talk to him anymore about Vincent. Or her heart.

If only she could figure out what she had been missing, what caused her to soldier on...

"— and if you tire of this Doctor of yours, return! And we will have children by the dozen."

Amy Pond grimaced, playfully dodging Vincent's offer. But as they said goodbye that morning, the thought of how she would make so many children with Vincent left her a bit breathless. She was acutely aware of the Doctor's attention during her last moments with Vincent. It was great to say goodbye to Vincent while he was in a good mood.

The morning was bright and beautiful as the Provencal countryside. The Doctor and Amy departed from the Yellow House. If the Doctor said anything to her, she brushed it off with an aloof comment. Maybe they could stop by that cafe before they left 1890. One foot in front of the other.

But the Doctor gave her a strange look. Then he called out to Vincent, announcing he had something to show the artist.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. "Doctor?" Amy prompted.

"What's the point of time travel if we can't help people," the Doctor said. His tone was playful but there was underlying melancholy to his words. Before Amy could ask him to elaborate, Vincent joined them. The Doctor clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, his plan falling into place. He then stalked off in the direction where they left the TARDIS.

Vincent van Gogh, now properly dressed, stood beside Amy outside his home. He glanced between the departing Doctor and her. "What's he on about now?"

Amy stared after the Doctor. The implication at what he was doing sank in. Hope swelled in her chest and her face broke out into a grin. She turned to Vincent and grabbed his hand. "Come on."

If the Doctor wanted to show Vincent all the wonderful things he would accomplish, she didn't want the Doctor to have a chance to change his mind...

"When you said my paintings were precious to you —" Vincent stammered, blinking back the tears.

"I meant it," Amy Pond said with conviction.

It was 2010 and they stood near the restrooms in the Musée d'Orsay. As soon as Dr. Black had finished his assessment of van Gogh, the trio departed the exhibit. Vincent's eyes were red and wet, calming down from the revelation.

The emotion in his eyes as he looked at her, as if his gaze was searing into her soul, caused something to tighten in her chest. She swallowed and glanced around for the Doctor. He hovered around the corner. She could see a sliver of tweed and that floppy hair of his peeking around the wall's edge. She suspected that the Doctor was giving them a little breathing room so Amy could comfort someone who was new to the wonders of time travel.

"Is this where you're from?"

Vincent's question pulled Amy's attention back to him. Her eyes met his. "Yes. Well, not Paris. But yeah. 2010."

"Traveling with the Doctor... is it always like this?"

"Yeah. And so much more." Her smile grew wider. She could go on about the adventures she had, the emotions that came with the travel and spending time with her best friend. Even if she was suspicious the Doctor wasn't telling her the whole truth, her unconditional fondness for the man shined. How could she even begin to put it into words? "It's wonderful, dangerous, scary, amazing —"

"I can see why you're with him."

The despondent echoes returned to Vincent's words. They just showed him a fraction of the world's adoration for him and the artist focused on why Amy was staying with the Doctor.

After trying to extract something from the Doctor, being with a man who so willingly displayed his emotions was a welcome change for her. But Vincent's moods could change suddenly. It was part of his madness. She wanted to comfort him, build him up, but not tiptoe around what made her Amy Pond. She only wished Vincent didn't see their travels as abandoning him...

Amy Pond wasn't ready to let Vincent van Gogh go home yet. They could return him to the exact moment they whisked him away — he didn't need to go home right this minute.

The artist had been understandably quiet since they returned to the TARDIS. Finding out how the world would one day love him was a lot to take in, given his current loneliness. When she offered to show him the amenities within the blue box, he had half-heartedly agreed. The Doctor's eyes followed them as she led Vincent up the stairs, out of the control room, and further into the TARDIS.

Now in the library, any enthusiasm she felt dwindled when he didn't respond with his earlier curiosity.

"You don't seem interested in the library, or the swimming pool. Is everything all right?" She asked, moving away from the doorway to where he stood in the center of the reading room. It stood on the edge of the Olympic-sized swimming pool. "Do you want us to take you home?"

He shook his head and after a few false starts, he finally said something. "Thank you for today. I wish there were some way I could repay you for your kindness."

"It was no kindness. It was the truth."

Vincent's eyes remained on the water. "Amy Pond..." he trailed off, rubbing his beard.

"Yeah?"

"I'll never see you again."

It was most likely true. But time travel was tricky and she didn't want to write off the possibility. "You don't know that —"

"What could a lonely artist like me offer a woman who's already been given the stars?" He blinked back tears Amy finally saw. A lump formed in the back of her throat as he continued. "The thought of never seeing you again, never meeting with you as your lover —"

"Shut up," Amy breathed. She closed the distance between them, kissing him hard.

Vincent reacted with the emotions built up over the day. One hand grabbed the back of her neck and the other slid around her waist, crushing her body against his. Her fingers clutched his jacket, pulling him closer.

She wanted to kiss him when she saw him that morning, leave him with something sweet and teasing. She wanted to kiss him in the museum, make him forget the onslaught of new information. Last night had been about seizing the moment. Perhaps it would have been easier to let him leave if they hadn't had last night. She wouldn't know what she would be missing. By the swimming pool in the library, Amy kissed Vincent goodbye.

Their goodbye intensified andshe knew what room she wanted to show him. She pulled back, breathing heavy. Her eyes roamed his face and she cupped his cheek.

"Follow me," Amy whispered, taking his hand and leading him out of the library.

She led him down a maze of corridors, filled with doors to rooms filled with the most unusual assortment of belongings. Memories of past companions, possibly. Or stuff the Doctor collected along the way. Her room was hidden down one corridor. Christmas lights she had commandeered from the Doctor were strung up on the wall. Clothes were draped over furniture. The bed was unmade. It was a little piece of home as she and the Doctor wandered across the universe.

Vincent was less interested in her room. He embraced her, pulling her back against his chest. If Amy felt any apprehension about stealing him away to her room, while the Doctor waited, it melted when she saw Vincent in the mirror. The reflection of him standing behind her, kissing her neck and feeling her curves made it hard to breathe.

His eyes met hers through the mirror and she saw the intent in their blueness. He undressed her, not letting her turn around to reciprocate the favor. He teased and coaxed her. Her gut coiled as he brought her to the brink then denied her. She whined in protest, arching against him. The scratchy fabric of his clothes rubbed her bare skin as she writhed against him. A sound rattled in the back of his throat as she moved her hips against him. He pushed her down on her bed and quickly removed his own clothes.

Before Amy could crawl closer to him, he settled behind her and held her in place. His chest pressed against her back. She felt him move against her, and angled her hips to receive him. His hand gripped her hip as he guided himself inside of her. He kissed the nape of her neck, running the bridge of his nose behind her ear. He drove into her slowly, whispering notions of their life together and promises of how he'd love her just as he loved her right now. Pure, carnal devotion. Kindred souls. He'd show her the stars. The stars' beauty did not compare to hers. Her eyes fluttered as him and his words sent her spiraling.

He must have felt her nearing; his pace quickened and she squirmed against his hold, desperate for more control. Then all the pent-up emotions and sensations building up inside her exploded. Breathing heavy into her hair and neck, he moved and repositioned their bodies. He was careful not to pull out of her as they rolled and she settled face down against her sheets. He remained still, buried inside of her as she finished shuddering around him. Then he moved inside her again.

Amy wanted to shout from the top of the world — to the museum visitors, to the villagers that ostracized him — that this man had other skills than his painting. And those needed to be lauded just as much. If he asked her right now to stay with him in 1890, she'd seriously consider it.

As she regained strength in her legs, she braced herself against the mattress, pushed her backside against him to meet his rhythm full force. She rose up on her hands and arched her back as one of his hands circling her waist and the other sliding up between her shoulder blades. He thrust into her, repeatedly, pulling her back to him.

Then Vincent abruptly stopped, pulling out and leaving her empty. She whimpered, looking over her shoulder to see what was holding him up. He shook with restraint, still hard and watched her carefully. His chest heaved and she saw the lust in his heavy-lidded eyes.

She knew that look and she grinned, her tongue catching in her teeth. She changed her position, stretching out on the bed and leaning back. His blue eyes studied her, memorized her. She opened herself wide to receive him and an animalistic sound came out of him. He hovered over her, grabbing onto her legs to pull her underneath him.

"I'll never forget you," Amy breathed the words as he filled her again. She relished in the fullness, her hips swaying to feel him completely. She pressed her lips against his ear. "I'll never forget today."

Today. Stretched Between 1890 and 2010. He touched his forehead to hers. She paid close attention to nuances of his expression, his blue eyes locked on her hazel ones as he lost himself in her. A mix of emotions swelled inside of her, captivated by the artist so enraptured by her that it turned her on.

She knew she was going to come again, could feel it rising inside of her, bucked her hips to finish once more. White flashed and she cried out, her body twisting underneath his. A sound rumbled in his chest, deep and primal as he moved faster. He groaned into her collarbone, burying himself deep inside of her. Amy continued to quiver around him as he came.

As their bodies cooled and hearts slowed, they remained tangled for several minutes. Vincent lifted his head from her shoulder and stroked her hair from her face. He traced her cheek and jaw with his calloused fingers. He started to pull away from her but she latched her legs against his hips to keep him for a moment longer. Finally, he rolled off of her and onto his back.

She pushed herself up, tucking hair behind her ear and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then his shoulder. "We should head back to the control room — the Doctor's probably waiting on us to finish the tour."

"To take me back to the village."

For the first time since Vincent mentioned them leaving him, sadness was absent from his voice. Instead, he sounded content. Sated. She smiled and didn't think twice before she climbed on top of him, straddling him. His favorite artist — beneath her and happy. It made her feel like the most important girl in the universe. "I expect to see all those paintings you haven't gotten a chance to paint yet. They better be on those walls when I get back to 2010."

"Or you'll come back and check on me?"

Amy evaded his question.

Vincent sat up, pressing kisses against her skin as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I imagine the only way to keep you for myself is to put you on canvas. But then you'd end up on the wall of a museum. And I wouldn't want to share you with anyone else. Except maybe your Doctor."

Amy was fairly sure Vincent's comment was harmless. But given her current state of undress and what she just did with Vincent van Gogh in the TARDIS, her brain couldn't process that statement. She slid off of his lap. He relented and climbed out of her bed. She watched him dress; he remained aware that her eyes were on him. Only once he shrugged on his coat did Amy retrieved her clothes.

As she pulled on her shirt over her head, the memory of her first night on the TARDIS came back to her. How would Vincent fare if he got a view of space? He painted stars, breathed life and emotion into them through oil on canvas. Would the Doctor grant him one more concession, the chance to see such beauty from the perch of the TARDIS doors?

Amy wanted to stand by Vincent's side when they opened the blue doors.

Before they left her room, she asked. "Would you like to see the stars?"

"Come on, let's go back to the gallery right now..."

Amy Pond disappeared into the TARDIS, leaving Vincent van Gogh in his place in history. She took the steps to the controls two at a time. She practically jumped on the Doctor's back, making sure he entered the correct coordinates — Paris, Musée d'Orsay, 2010.

On some level, she knew she should hold onto the memory of the time she spent with Vincent van Gogh. But it wasn't enough. She wanted to see if their stolen moments made a difference, if brand new paintings waited for her on museum walls. They brought him to the stars. They showed him a world that revered his life's work.

She wanted to believe that the Doctor's decision to interfere with history and show Vincent how he'll never be forgotten meant he could one day tell her what she was missing from her own heart. Her faith in the Doctor restored, she realized it never really went anywhere. This Time Lord of hers knew her, through and through. He sought to protect her from the heartache of loving a doomed artist and gave her the hope that the artist's life — and the history of art - was forever changed by their actions today.

"Time can be rewritten. I know it can!"

The high Amy felt was so wonderful as her heart soared. She was the triumphant heroine. Her boots hit the ground running as soon as the TARDIS landed in 2010. She bounded into the Musée d'Orsay, through its glass doors. The Doctor's demeanor changed as he followed her upstairs. The more optimistic she shined, the more reserved he became.

But when they returned to the van Gogh exhibit, she overheard Dr. Black. Her face fell and a dead weight slid onto her chest. She then turned, seeking out the Doctor who watched her carefully.

"So you were right — no new paintings..."

In a quick moment, she felt unimportant, stupid, useless. What had they accomplished? Nothing. Vincent van Gogh still took his own life when his time came. Did he feel alone in death? Was he convinced he was abandoned? She was a naive child, thinking they made a true difference.

The Doctor comforted her, soothed her with the right words. He chased away despair that threatened her precarious heart. When he pointed the absence of the Krafayis from the Church of Auvers, her heart continued to hurt. The reason they were drawn to 1890 had been removed. They were no longer needed.

But then, she saw the sunflowers.

For Amy...

Maybe the Doctor was right. They made their mark on Vincent's heart, added to his pile of good things. Just as Vincent had done for her. She took a deep breath, smiling through the tears. Today, she reminded herself, was brighter than sunflowers...

She will soldier on.

End.

Thank y'all for being so patient with me. Hopefully it was worth the wait! If you liked this, and haven't checked out my other Amy/Vincent story "Streaks of Orange and Dark Blue", please do!

I've been revisiting Series 5 & 6 and forgot how utterly charmed I was by "Vincent and the Doctor". I've also been kicking around an AU idea that happens prior to the TARDIS exploding and the Pandorica opening. I'd get to explore a little more of DW's imagining of Vincent van Gogh's life. It would be more of a mini-series, rather than a two-parter (like "In Every Sunflower") or standalone (like "Streaks of Orange and Dark Blue"). Is this something y'all would be interested in? If so, please let me know what you think of this piece and if you'd like to see more Amy/Vincent in a review. :)

Thanks for reading!